


Truth and Consequence

by Bananas45



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Cloud is confused, Confusion, Dream Sex, Final Fantasy VII Remake, Hallucinations, Heavy Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mindfuck, OR IS IT, Partial Mind Control, Rape/Non-con Elements, so am I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23635261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bananas45/pseuds/Bananas45
Summary: He’s not sure how long he stares at the off-white of the sink, watching his own tears fall into the plug-hole before he tries to inhale.“You’re losing it, Strife” He says, just to hear his own voice, humour lilting it shakily. Just to make sure he’s really here. The green around his eyes, the tang of Mako against the back of his throat, it all begins to ease a little.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Comments: 11
Kudos: 248





	Truth and Consequence

**Author's Note:**

> This is just some quick porn written in a rush. I love these two. I dig it. I've always dug it but I'm digging these Remake hallucinations a lot. 
> 
> I'll be honest I don't understand it. Cloud's whole memory issues confused me in the original and they're confusing me even more now.

Exhaustion is a strange feeling but it’s one that Cloud Strife had become well acquainted with. Running on empty has been something he’s done since he was a boy. Bad harvests, cold winters, illness but no doctor. He remembers, at least he thinks he does, his thin arms around his knees, letting out shuddering breaths as the mountain winds battered the windows, so loud it was impossible to sleep. 

‘But the thing about exhaustion is that it’s a good incentive to get things done.’ 

He knows those words, someone told them to him once. It ticks a smile at the side of his face. A glow to their eyes so similar to his own but he can’t remember the name. Maybe he said them himself. 

The floodlights from above create an artificial moonlight, dappled neon from the surrounding slums. Lack of sleep in Midgar was much easier, there was always something to be done. Something to see. The place glowed as bright at night as it did during the day. 

But he’s been asked to stay and to sleep, to help. So he settles on the bed, sliding his hand over the sheets before taking off his boots, curling and uncurling his toes. He blinks against the sting in his eyes, overuse and tiredness creeping in. 

But that’s the _other_ kicker to exhaustion; 

You rarely fall asleep once you actually get a bed. What you get is sharper and nauseated. Cloud feels like a life-wire, like his skin is on fire. Decision making is harder, sure, but he doesn’t _have_ to think. No, he thinks it’s best if he stops thinking all together. Just fight, for whatever or whoever, it doesn’t even matter. He’s so used to the feeling now, he isn’t sure he’d want it any other way. He lies back, even if it’s a pointless endeavour, hands laced behind his head. 

See, it’s only when he sleeps or _thinks_ that his mind wanders to places it shouldn’t. Places where the edges of his memories begin to fissure and blur. Places that make him repeat, slow and more unsure the more he says them _My name is Cloud Strife, I’m a Soldier First Class._

Lying in this rickety bed, shaken and confused, he has a horrible and sinking feeling it won’t be the last time he has to convince himself of that fact. He sits up, sighing at his own inability to relax and looks down at his own bare hands. They’re so _small_ and slender. Again, If he begins to consider things too hard they unravel. The early hours of the morning always bring concerns that daylight doesn’t consider. 

But as the artificial nocturne paints his hands and forearms, without the gloves, he realizes how unblemished his skin is. Uncalloused. Strong, sure, but not _worn_ . There are other little things, like how he doesn’t actually meet Solider’s height requirement, like how he has no memories of training but he knows he must have been strong otherwise - otherwise _he_ wouldn’t be dead. The thought of him makes his throat tighten with a sentimentality he doesn’t remember why he has. 

He curses himself for even entertaining the idea of that man and on queue his head begins to spin. He closes his eyes against the rush of nausea, the onset of something he doesn’t have time for right now. 

“Please…” he whispers into the night. “Not now” 

Maybe sometimes he does want to cry or lie down and not feel like death when he wakes up an hour later but he’s decided he’s not that kind of boy. He hopes he never was. He doesn’t need comfort and even if he did, he isn’t sure who he’d get it from. 

_Now that is a lie and you know it._

His head whips at the voice, scanning the dark room before he realises with a bitter laugh, that it’s just his own thoughts. Recently they’ve seemed to know more than he does. Like his own mind is a joke that needs to be told in parts. 

It’s not fair though. The clearest memories are the ones he wishes he could forget. From failing Tifa to killing the world’s most beloved war hero. 

_The worlds? Now Cloud, let’s not mince our words. We both know who’s beloved I was-_

“Stop!” He barks but it’s too late for that. The pain is intense, not just in his head now but everywhere else. Inescapable and heavy. The headache pulses angrily, making him cry out. The room flutters in and out of focus, somewhere between a military issue bunk and his old room in Nibelheim. 

_He remembers how easily the sword slipped in and straight through. He’d put so much weight behind it but in hindsight it was probably not needed. That sword was sharper than anything he’d ever known. That gasp of shock had almost sounded like a laugh. Taken aback that it had even happened. His memories are twisted, so twisted that the voice now sounds impressed._

The vision’s subside even if the green still tinges his vision, he stumbles up and towards the bathroom, breathing so laboured it makes his chest hurt. 

“You’re just tired” he murmurs, shaking his head violently. This can’t be happening. It’s not real. It’s not real and he’s _not_ crazy. 

The ground seems to shake and splinter and every footstep makes him less sure of any of it. If this is happening and if he might be crazy. It makes sense. He barely knows the half of it about himself, he barely knows _anything_ . Despair bubbles somewhere inside of him because the alternative is worse, so much worse; He’s not crazy, this _is_ happening and _he’s_ really alive, really back. Everything eases for a moment as that settles, the pain slipping away. 

_Is it really so hard to believe, Cloud?_

But the voice makes the fight return, makes him shake his head as something horribly close to hope pushes against his ribcage. The harder he fights the thought, the _attraction_ , the worse the pain gets. Until his jaw hangs open in a silent scream and tears dripping off the edge of his nose, hands pulling his hair in the hopes of grounding himself. The idea that he’ll get relief from acceptance terrifies him too much to try the hypothesis. 

“No, no-” He’s not sure what he’s denying anymore. That this is a reality or that it’s what he _wants._

His heart beats in tandem with the pulse behind his eyes. He doubles over the grimey sink, grip so tight on it that the porcelain cracks. 

The world has slipped so far away from him he’s unsure if he’s dreaming or awake. This can’t last forever, he decides. The horrible sick feeling in his gut, the searing pain, the flicker of memories he’s not sure are real. He just has to breathe. 

He’s not sure how long he stares at the off-white of the sink, watching his own tears fall into the plug-hole before he tries to inhale. 

“You’re losing it, Strife” He says, just to hear his own voice, humour lilting it shakily. Just to make sure he’s really here. The green around his eyes, the tang of Mako against the back of his throat, it all begins to ease a little. Not enough that he feels steady on his feet but enough that he looks up. 

But all the mirror reflects is the last thing he wants to see. Those eyes, slitted and serpentine, the high ridge of those cheekbones. The smile looks soft from here. 

_Aren’t you just_

He barks out a scream, back hitting the wall as he stares in shock, head shaking violently even if words are failing him. He drags a hand through his own hair, only to find it curling in strands around his wrist. Like spun silk, like a spider's web. He can feel down his back. 

_We’re just alike, you and I_

His breath barely makes it out, trapped in his throat. His- _His_ \- reflection stares back at him. The glow of those eyes pinning him in place. 

_You’re terrified. I understand that._

The strands of around his fingers begin to tighten, until he has to grab his hand from the pain of it. This body, those eyes, it brings back so much that he’d buried deep inside himself. 

Desire and admiration pitted against the pain and the loathing. 

It isn’t _real_ . _It’s not-_

“ _Sephiroth-”_

  
  
  


He bolts upright, sweat leaving a blazing trail across hypersensitive skin down to his collar. Breathing so hard his throat aches. 

The bed protests as he falls back, letting the ceiling focus. The room is silent but definitely _real_. He’s shirtless but he doesn’t remember taking off his top, the strangeness of that isn’t lost on him. But nothing feels off or dreamlike about the present. The moon is where he remembered it. The room is still that unnerving silvery blue. 

He takes a shuddering sigh. A dream, a very real one, but still just a dream. Where it became one, he’s less sure. 

He runs a hand through his hair, just to check and finds himself laughing at the ridiculousness of his own head. His eyes close as he evens his breath, letting his heart slow. 

A shadow passes across the window and Cloud startles to look at it. 

“Recovered?” 

The difference in tone is palpable. His own head sounds different from the real thing. He waits for the pain, for the headache but it doesn’t come. He doesn’t know what to say. 

“You’re…” Cloud’s tone is defeated. He wants to get up, to do something but whatever just happened has left him haunted enough that all his limbs feel too heavy to move. It’s only then he realises that was probably the _point._ Sephiroth has him where he wants. 

“I only want to talk” 

Cloud lets out a soft laugh that gets caught in his throat, rubbing the heel of his hand into his forehead to try and feel more present. His gaze shifts to the windowsill but he finds he can’t look at the man for more than a moment at a time. He feels like a boy again, starstruck and _easy_ and he’s horrified by how effortlessly the fantasy slips back into place. 

Sephiroth smiles, soft and knowing. It’s disarmingly familiar. 

“Without your Friends” He moves closer. “Or your own sense of righteous indignation”

He feels himself slipping away the closer Sephiroth gets and the pain begins to pulse again. Tearing his focus away from the words, he digs his nails into his palms. 

“You’re fighting me,” Sephiroth says, a hint of disappointment, tinged with affected concern. 

Cloud bares his teeth, aware he must look like some cornered beast, snapping it’s teeth at its master. 

“You’re _dead_ ” Cloud begs. “You’re not real...I’m just-” 

“Lonely?” Sephiroth finishes and the bed dips where he settles. Cloud’s eyes widen. 

“Crazy” Cloud snaps, shaking his head as he shifts up the headboard, pinned under that gaze. He thinks his heart has stopped beating from the fear. Moreover, under the fear, something worse, something like anticipation. He can taste it. 

“Who do you think carried you through here?” Sephiroth says gently. 

Cloud’s gaze meets him reluctantly. His breathing is visible, he knows the way his chest is rising must look pathetic. He’s laid utterly bare, stripped inside and out. 

“That was a dream” he says weakly. “You’re not even…” 

He struggles to finish the sentence, looking down. “Corporeal” 

Sephiroth laughs, an airy and soft thing that sends a visceral shiver down Cloud’s back. 

“You haven’t checked” 

Cloud winces against another wave of pain as he tries to move away. He needs to get up, he needs to move away, this is really fucking bad. 

“You can believe you’re dreaming, Cloud. I encourage you to” 

He watches as Sephiroth pulls his gloves off, hand dropping entirely innocuously onto the bed. Cloud flinches at everything about the action. Eyes flickering, panicked between Sephiroth’s even gaze and the bed. 

“Tell me what you’d do. Given no consequence” 

“I’d fucking kill you- Ah-” Pain erupts across him, causing his head to knock back against the headboard, sweat breaking across his forehead as he bites his lower lip against the pain. 

“ _Focus on me_ ” The voice slices through the night air and straight into his head. A pinpoint of relief in amongst the agony. 

Reluctantly he finds himself obeying. The vice on his nerves eases off and it feels almost euphoric.

“You and I are linked” That voice, it washes over him like a cool breeze. 

Cloud watches, even if his gaze begins to swim, as the hand slides further up the bed till it rests just half an inch from his own clenched fist. 

“The only thing hurting you is your own resistance” 

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head violently. He doesn’t know if it’s true or not. Resistance against _what_ is something he wants to ask but his Mother had once told him you can only let a demon in once you acknowledge it’s there. 

Sephiroth chuckles, as though he disagrees. 

“You’re painting yourself the hero, Strife” he says. The lights fade behind smog, making the glow of Sephiroth’s eyes an uncanny light source. “And I presume that makes me your villain. I can allow that, you can lie to yourself but you can’t lie to _me_. I know more about you than you’re willing to accept-” 

Cloud shakes his head, futile and soft. 

“Don’t look so shaken,” Sephiroth says and the soft drawl to his voice keeps Cloud frozen in place. “After all, It’s thanks to your ability to keep truth and consequence from ever meeting that we’re here at all” 

He’s shaking now, violently enough that his teeth begin to chatter. 

“If you’re looking to break my will-” Cloud begins, voice hoarse. Sephiroth’s eyes flash, a grin showing his teeth. 

“Always presuming I want to do you harm” Sephiroth murmurs, the top pad of his middle finger trails a line along the ridge of Cloud’s knuckles and Cloud’s eyes flutter, a gasp forcing his way out his lungs. 

_Real enough_

The touch makes him squirm just a little and locks his hand in place, body refusing to deny itself this. 

He can’t bring himself to trust those words. They’re so clearly false and yet another part of him, influenced how much he’s unsure, begs for respite. For something he can call a lapse of judgement in the morning. He doesn’t have to take responsibility for this, when the pain eases in the man's presence, when memories of a past that don’t seem like his own prickle, warm and indulgent to the front of his mind. 

The thoughts alone, not even acting on them, make his whole body tingle as the pain recedes. He lets out a gasp of relief, allowing the feeling of Sephiroth’s fingers, tracing against his own, to fully hit him. 

It’s so real. 

“You’re really here, aren’t you?” He says, a desperate and painful desire pushing against the words. He knows he must look so pleading, sliding forward as their hands interlace. Revelling in the jolt down his arm instead of fighting it. 

Sephiroth stays inhumanely still as Cloud reaches forward, tears already in the corners of his eyes. His hand slides along Sephiroth’s jaw, his touch light and unsure, wary and ready to jump back at the first sign of trouble. He strokes up to his brow as his fingers thread through silver strands. 

Sephiroth catches his wrist, thumb brushing over his pulse point. Their eyes are locked and Cloud finds he can’t look away. 

“Your heart is racing, Cloud” 

His guts are squirming, the fear and adrenaline mingling with desire in some toxic combination. Focusing on anything else except where their skin meets is painful but the feeling of Sephiroth’s hand is almost like a burn even if it’s only feather light. 

“Is it fear?” 

No, he thinks. It’s so much worse than that. 

Sephiroth moves closer, hair falling over his shoulder to brush against Cloud’s other arm. His breath, oh so real, fans across Cloud’s face. Cloud leans back, pulling his hand away from Sephirtoh’s grip to breathe a soft ‘No’ against the others cheek as their noses brush. 

His rejection is dismissed as Sephiroth’s huge hand cups his cheek. He feels a lightening of his fucking soul when Sephiroth’s lips meet his. It’s a facsimile of romance. Perfectly soft, perfectly smooth. Cloud’s falling before he even gets a chance to find his footing. His mouth opens, he hopes to protest but more likely in unwilling surrender. 

Pushed back against the bed, Cloud let’s his hands fall to the sides of his head, unresisting. Sephiroth’s face with glee. He sits back, weightless even if he’s straddling Cloud’s hips and strips with an ease that should make Cloud uneasy, makes the whole thing feel a little less tangible. 

Say no, he thinks to himself, say anything. Do _something._

Instead he lets Sephiroth’s hands lace with his own, breathes out a moan as he is bracketed in curtain’s of silver. 

Their lips meet again, longer and more intense and Cloud finds his own fingers returning the hold, curling hard across the backs of Sephiroth’s palms. A laugh falls against his mouth, hits the back of his throat. 

He could just give in, just for now, for however long this would take. That’s not a crime. The world isn’t ending behind their kiss. Not yet. 

“It’s just a dream, Cloud” 

“Yes...” He breathes, head tilting as far back as it’ll go to let Sephiroth’s mouth trail down his neck, nipping hard and then soothing it away. Bare hands slide down to his waist, almost fitting fully round him. Sephiroth seems to pause to marvel at it. 

He pulls his legs out, wrapping them around Sephiroth’s hips, digging his heels into the small of his back to regain some semblance of control. He tries to imagine himself from Sephiroth’s eyes, blonde hair splayed out. Eyes wild, exhaustion written across every sinew of his body. So painfully small, ribs showing even against the muscles on top. 

_Just a country boy in over his head_

It’s then that hopelessness seems to overwhelm him. He can’t possibly beat him, he barely managed once, he can’t hope to again. His heart rabbits. 

Sephiroth smiles then, like he can smell it. Un-blinking eyes giving Cloud as once over. He leans up on his elbows and kisses him again, sliding his hands into his hair. It’s so unlike his own, brittle and messy. He finds himself tugging on the strands as they slide through. Sephiroth’s hand balances his back as he grinds up into Cloud. The pleasure is like a lightning strike and Cloud’s eyes widen, hands digging into broad shoulders. 

How long has it been? He can’t remember. He can barely remember the last time he touched himself for _any_ purpose. Hands over himself in the shower, washing his hair. That’s about it. 

The world’s unfocusing again but it isn’t pain that blurs his vision now, it’s _good._ It’s so fucking good. Sephiroth holds him down, one hand trapped beneath the bed and his back the other trailing circles over his heart, down to the waistband of his trousers. 

“Take these off” 

He does it painfully fast, stupidly, like an obedient dog and Sephiroth smirk twists as he pulls him close by his thighs with a grip that might bruise. But he doesn’t fight it, he just lets it happen. He can’t focus. Sephiroth’s touch is like a brand. It feels so fucking good, so good that he loses track of everything except Sephiroth’s gaze and the hand on his jaw, holding him there. Unable to look away as his thighs are parted. 

Has this happened before? 

Have they been here before? 

It feels distantly familiar. 

It clicks when Sephiroth fucks into him with no preparation. This isn’t real. This can’t be real because it shouldn’t feel this good. The burn is almost unbearable but the pleasure underneath it makes Cloud’s toes curl. His vision whites out, his whole body taunt. This was impossible. Entirely impossible. 

“Gods…” He chokes. 

It’s sickening how good it is. The man above him has destroyed everything, everything he’s ever had. Even his ideals, his modicum of success all burnt away in one night. 

But that isn’t what brings tears to his eyes, even as he moans into his hand, jaw aching from Sephiroth’s grip on it, forcing his head to stay in place as he fucks deeper. The tears are because he wants it. Deep down, he’s _aching_ for it and fighting against it is so hard. 

It’s not his hatred for Sephiroth or what he’s done. It’s the loathing for himself, for given in so easily, for wanting it so badly. For allowing it. 

He has to stop this - 

Sephiroth senses his reluctance, given that they’re apparently ohso connected and takes that moment to effortlessly flip them. Laughing softly as he lands under Cloud, steadying the boy above him. 

“Take back your control then, Cloud'' He murmurs but there is a challenge behind the word, Hair splayed across the bed, long enough that it waterfalls over the sides, eyebrow cocked ever so softly. “Get off me” 

The angle is so deep it takes a shuddering breath from Cloud. He’s right on the edge, so fucking close to cumming. Sephiroth’s index finger trails along his untouched cock, watching as it jumps. 

“Leave, Cloud” 

He wants to. Gods, he does. He wants to pull up and off, run a fucking sword through that chest he’s currently bracing on. 

Even with his eyes screwed shut he feels Sephiroth’s smirk like sunlight. The hips under him buck and he lets out a cry before they go still. 

“I hate you” He snarls. Hips shuddering against the desire to move. He’s grinding before he can help it. Sephiroth watches him like a hawk, certain of the outcome before it’s even happened. Cloud lets out a sob of frustration as he speeds up, unable to help himself once he starts. 

Finding an easy rhythm. Like they’re made for one another. 

_No_ , _I’m made for him. How long can I deny it? He’s so fucking perfect. I’m nothing without him. I need -_

_You need to give in._

“Get out of my head” Cloud snarls, eyes snapping open to risk a glare, even if his hips have sped up, even if he’s gone ragdoll limp, allowing Sephiroth to decide the speed, hands on hips gripping hard enough to sheer skin. 

Sephiroth just chuckles in response. 

He digs into Sephiroth’s stomach, fingers leaving no marks despite how hard he’s doing it. He’s trying to brace or ground himself against the onslaught of pleasure but it’s pointless, there is nothing to ground to anymore. If this is how he loses his mind, he thinks he doesn’t care. 

He lets Sephiroth throw him down. His body half on the bed, Sephiroth’s hands on his lower thighs, using it as leverage to drive deeper into him. 

Cloud lets his head dangle, blood rushing to it, making his mind feel heavy. The room tilts out of focus against the thrusts and Sephiroth's right hand shoots out to grab his neck, not hard enough to choke, just enough to hold him up, so he can’t look away. 

_Fuck it_

He grabs the edge of the bed and pulls himself up, arms wrapping around Sephiroth’s shoulder. They pause then, maybe for a second, maybe for longer. Sephiroth’s gaze seems to stop time itself. Eyes wide, lips bruising against the others. Sobbing openly against the other as a hand wraps around his cock. 

The buzz in his head grows, crescendoing as Sephiroth whispers into his hair, grip tightening on him. The world blurring, clicking and dissolving into nothing but green and the tang of Mako and memories Cloud can’t quite reach. 

It’s so impossibly good. He feels so impossibly whole. It’s so _wrong_ but he can’t bear to fight it anymore. He doesn’t have to either, he realises, he could fall, let go. Sephiroth would catch him. He cares so little _anyway_ . What kind of awful self-punishment is it to deny himself the one thing he truly desires. If there has been one constant through his life it’s been Sephiroth. Desire to be him, desire to be near him, desire to _forget_ him. He’s always been there. 

It reaches a tipping point as Sephiroth kisses him again and his eyes flutter shut before he can help it. Jaw dropping as he moans. 

_I love you_

And just like that, the pleasure ends. Cloud’s eyes flash open as a cold dread settles in his chest. He hadn’t voiced the thought, god no, he’s not the stupid but it slipped through without the barriers he carefully crafted. Sephiroth is so far inside his head now that he seems instantly know and that’s enough. Enough for Cloud to know this was a huge mistake. A moment passes between them and then nothing. Sephiroth’s eyes sharpen, slits narrowing and smirk curling against his mouth. 

_Good_

Then He’s alone. There was no-one there to begin with. His heaving chest and tear tracks on his cheeks are the only evidence. The sudden and complete emptiness, the silence makes his breath seem obnoxiously loud. His body is just as confused, as though every nerve ending doesn’t know what’s happening to it. The room has lost it’s glow, if it ever had one. His eyes haven’t shut.

The sun filters through the dirty window pane, first dawn. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, suddenly unable to even visualise what just happened. 

“Must have been a dream” He murmurs.

  
  



End file.
